Predictable
by N. Marie
Summary: Hermione is a sensible girl. Luna is not. [Femmeslash]


Predictable

**Author**: N. Marie

**Rating**: PG-13

**Disclaimer**: Me no own, you no sue. Thanks.

**Summary**: Hermione is a sensible girl. Luna is not.

I've always considered myself a fairly sensible girl. I don't do anything that is mindless or foolish because the results would not be pleasant in the whole scheme of things and I understand the reasoning behind a well thought-out plot. Some people might call me predictable because of my ideals, but I stick to my excuse that I am simply _sensible_. I'm cautious at the right moments and I can usually tell when I've gone too far in a situation; sensible, not predictable.

The ideas of routine and planning are common in my life though. Without these, I _would_ be lost. I have to have a goal to work toward, with an outline of how to get there, otherwise I might lose track of what's important and well, I don't even like to think in those terms. They're not me. They're upsetting.

When it comes to my two best friends, people think they're the exact opposite of me, but they are both easy to read and as predictable as the other if you look close enough—and I _have_, because they are _my_ best friends. 

Harry's life has been planned for him since the day he was born and he's the Boy Who Lived, whether he wants to acknowledge this or not. It makes him who he is, again, whether he wants to admit it or not. He carries around that title with an uneasiness that keeps him humble but that also gives him a complex of wanting to be the hero. He doesn't let things go to his head too much that he won't listen to me or reason even when it seems like he shouldn't.

Ron is different from Harry, but he's still obvious enough for me to understand. Being a child born in family of seven has him striving toward a lot. Everyone may look at him and think selfish, ill-tempered, hothead, but I know better. Ron is self-conscious and because of _that,_ he tries too hard. Where Harry lets things roll, Ron pushes with all his might. His infamous temper is easier to understand then he is. He has buttons you've got to push and each time you push you get the same result. If you were to give me a watch I could probably time each of his reactions. The same goes for Harry most of the time.

This is why it makes sense that I'm their friend. I'm the voice of reason when they're irrational. It works for us and it _makes sense_. My friendship with them makes sense just like my animosity toward Malfoy and his group makes sense. Draco calls me names, he picks on my friends, and he has ties to dark allegiances—it _makes sense _for me not to like him.

Everything about Hermione Granger is sensible once it's explored. My hard work, my discipline, my love for rules and knowledge, my friends, my enemies—all of makes sense—is _sensible_ and _realistic_ and _me_. I live my life in a well-constructed box of rules, authority, allegiances, and control. Perhaps this is part of the reason Luna and I clashed so horribly.

Luna Lovegood, a character who shoved her way into my life and made herself a permanent fixture there. She took a spoon and carved a window where a door belonged. Luna—she disrupted everything I knew as sensible, and real, and _peaceful_. Luna is the type of girl who changes things to match her pace. It doesn't matter to her if there's already a pace in motion because to her, it's not important.

I'd like to say it all happened slowly and progressed at a natural rate, but it didn't. Nothing with Luna is natural or normal, not in the sense that I'm used to anyway—and probably not in the sense that anyone else is used to either. It started the first day on the Hogwarts Express, when I insulted her precious _Quibbler_. It didn't develop into anything tangible until Quidditch season of our 6th year.

I was sitting on the Gryffindor stands, watching Harry and Ron supervise tryouts, as a good friend should. Luna appeared besides me from thin air. At least, it felt that way at the time. 

"They're good on their brooms, especially Harry," she said to me instead of 'hello' like a normal person—but then, as I've said, Luna isn't the ideal for normal. I only nodded distractedly. Luna isn't a person you can expect a regular conversation with and I wasn't looking forward to her little visit to the stands. She continued talking to me anyway. "You're not, though. I've seen you before, you make it look like a terrible pain—like torture." 

Even though it was a fact that I was awful on a broomstick, it still stung like an insult. I took a chance and glanced away from the pitch to Luna. She was gazing contentedly at the clouds, her blue eyes wide and dreamy. I'd had enough of her already.

"What are you doing here, Luna? This is the Gryffindor tryouts."

Luna didn't pay me any mind though. She just smiled a little and waved the comment off as if it was nothing important. I gave her a steady glare and turned back to the pitch, fully intent on ignoring her. It wasn't for another full five minutes later that she responded.

"I came to sit with you," she said, squinting at a particular cloud. My eyes had strayed back to her before she had even opened her mouth.

"What? _Why_?" I asked, not managing to keep the suspicion out of my voice. By this point Luna was annoying me simply with her presence, and calmness, and watching her stare into the clouds with a look of pure, content concentration wasn't helping my attitude toward her.

"I came to sit with you," Luna said again and turned to give me a brilliant smile. Her teeth were whiter than I expected and looked like ivory against her pale, pink lips. "You're nice," she continued, "and I like you. Though, you don't really have a good grasp on reality."

I sputtered for a moment and then narrowed my eyes. "Me?" I wailed, a little off my guard. "_ME_? **You're** the one always going on about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and Fudge's helliopaths or whatever! I've got a right grasp on reality, _you're_ the one who needs the help!"

With an outburst like that I expected a scowl, or for Luna to walk away, but instead she did the absolute last thing I had in mind. She laughed—not just laughed, she went wild, completely hysterical. She slapped her thighs and threw her head back. She slurped in air and choked on her own breath. She made horrible gagging noises, but still she kept laughing. I once again narrowed my eyes at her, a sneer on my lips.

"I didn't say anything funny, Luna," I started to say but she shook her head and held up a hand into my face. It took her a few moments to calm down, but once she had, she fixed me with a knowing grin.

"Oh, _Hermione_, you **did**! You're just so—if only you could see yourself when you get so flustered and defensive. Your cheeks turn bright pink and your nose scrunches up just a bit, like this . . .," she demonstrated for me, pulling a horrible face, "and you appear so snotty and so not like yourself—it's hilarious."

I felt put out because _Luna Lovegood_ was making fun of _me_.

"Don't laugh at me, Luna. I didn't wasn't trying to be funny and you know it."

Surprisingly, Luna only nodded and turned her eyes back to the clouds. "I know it, but I wasn't laughing at you."

She was quiet again and I watched her. Her eyes had unfocused again and I felt disappointed that she'd retreated back into herself just when we were getting on so well. As much as I didn't like her laughing at me, when she was doing it I knew she was with me and not—whatever she usually was.

"I know you were being serious, Hermione. You always are. That's why you think I'm dotty, isn't it? Like everyone else? I know it," Luna's voice had suddenly taken on one of frustration. I was once again surprised at the change in her demeanor. It might have been hearing her voice sound so hopeless, or it might have been something else, but I started to protest what she was saying. She cut me off before I got the chance.

"You do, I can see it when you look at me. I hear it in your voice too. You don't like me."

This was said in defeat, as if we were opponents and she was waving a little white flag in my face. For once, Luna sounded _real_ to me and I was confused. 

"I like you, Luna," I said after a long silence. She smiled at me a little but it wasn't a very happy smile and it didn't look like she believed me.

"No, Hermione, you don't," she said matter-of-factly. I thought, I didn't not like her, she just annoyed me because she was so careless, and foolish, and apparently I was wrong because she was proving her point right then.

"But, no, I _do_," I replied.

"Really?" she sounded hopeful.

"**Yes**," I stressed my sincerity.

It was quiet for a while, both of us just sitting there. She was back in the clouds and I was watching the pitch. I couldn't believe I'd just admitted to liking Luna, but really, not liking her seemed fruitless and unreasonable. And, I'm always reasonable, even when I don't want to be.

"But," Luna finally said, "you don't like me like I want you to." She sighed and it wasn't content, like _her_ normal. It scared me a little, Luna was actually starting to scare me.

"I don't . . .," _understand_, I was going to say, but Luna cut me off before I got the chance. Her face had moved, sometimes when I obviously wasn't paying attention, to mere inches from my face. I opened my mouth again to ask her what she thought she was doing but her lips were suddenly pressed against mine and I couldn't think.

My brain shut down and I stopped thinking because I knew I'd only get myself into trouble if I did that. I just let Luna press her lips to mine, firm and sure and—why wasn't she so confused about this? Didn't she realize who we were? Didn't she realize we were both _girls_? Didn't any of this matter to her? It should have, it should have mattered to both of us but when she pulled back from my face and smiled, I lost any protests on my tongue.

Silence engulfed us again and my mind whirled. Luna had kissed me._ Luna_ _Lovegood_. She'd kissed me and—_and_ I didn't stop her. Had I lost my mind?

"Luna, you just kissed me," I said suddenly, turning my eyes to hers and for once meeting them completely.

"Yes, and I also told you I liked you," she smiled, this time more dreamily than her first grin, and her face brightened. "Hermione, have I gotten the chance to tell you about the Dog-Eating Magnolias? They're found in Ireland mostly and there's a story in _the Quibbler_ about a poodle that wandered into their fields and . . ."

"Luna," I interrupted, shocked at her mood swing. "**You** just _kissed_ me!"

She gave me a quizzical look and nodded again. "Yes, I know and you kissed me back," she paused and reached for my hand, twining our fingers together. I stared at her, lost somewhere between shock, relief, and fright. "You didn't make it look like torture either. Now, about the poodle . . ."

"Luna?" I asked and she gave me a patient look. "Are you going to do it again?"

She didn't even blush or bat an eye, she just scooted closer to me and tightened her grip on my hand. "I think I will. That's what people who like one another do, isn't it? Besides, I _did_ come all the way up here to sit by you—isn't that right too?"

I stared at our clasped hands.

"Luna," I whispered, my voice was low and I knew I sounded scared, because I was. "This doesn't make any sense."

"I know," she said, the dreamy look plastered to her face again.

"_I_ like things that make sense. I'm sensible."

She only smiled and nodded.

"I know that too, that's why I like you so much," and she was pressing her lips to mine again, another soft caress, warm, and fuzzy, and _good_. There were no reserves, no waiting for the other foot to drop. She squeezed my hand and pulled back, leaning her head onto my shoulder in way that seemed too intimate but fit.

"You're very sensible," she said and I nodded, because there was nothing else for me to do.

"Yes," I agreed.

"Good," Luna brightened and lifted her head to smile at me, "because I don't think that poodle was very sensible, otherwise it wouldn't have wandered into the field of Dog-Eating Magnolias."

And, for the first time I noticed the way Luna's voice took on a light feel and I watched the way her eyes twinkled and—Luna was _joking_ with me. That didn't seem right and it didn't make much sense. In fact, for some reason, it made less sense then the fact that she'd kissed me—_twice_—and was still holding my hand _on the Gryffindor stands_.

I gave her a hard look, trying to figure her out in one gaze. She wasn't like Harry or Ron, I couldn't predict what she was going to do next. I couldn't even predict what _I_ was going to do next with her around. Luna was an enigma, she was a puzzle—she was my opposite in every way. I was sensible, sensible Hermione Granger and she was 'loony' Luna Lovegood.

It just didn't _fit_. 

Sighing, I dropped my eyes to our clasped hands again and I stared at them, long and hard. And, it hit me like a ton of bricks because when I looked back up into Luna's face and when I leaned into give _her_ a kiss, I decided that despite what my sensible side thought, this was right. It didn't have to "make sense" because it felt right and that is what is important.

**Fin.**


End file.
